


Not an Easy Man to Love

by letmegeekatyou



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deaf Character, Disabled Character, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1541159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmegeekatyou/pseuds/letmegeekatyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knew that Krissy was getting a new ASL interpreter this week. Not a lot of notice, but the last interpreter, Victor Rogers, had quit kind of suddenly, so the new guy could have been pretty much anybody, and Dean would have been happy seeing Krissy get the support she needed. But, as it turned out, Castiel Novak was not only hygienic, he was knock-out gorgeous, all blue eyes and mussed hair, with a twisted tie and rolled up sleeves that did things to Dean’s ability to think straight.</p><p>It was convenient, then, that Mr. Novak was one grumpy son of a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for carltonspipeline on tumblr.

Dean knew that Krissy was getting a new ASL interpreter this week, because the guy had emailed him for information about his curriculum (ninth grade English) on Friday. Not a lot of notice, but the last interpreter, Victor Rogers, had quit kind of suddenly. Dean wasn’t sorry to see Rogers go—there was something a little off about the guy—but he had really left all of Krissy’s teachers in the lurch. Not to mention Krissy herself, who was now struggling to keep up via lipreading and after-school tutoring. Dean was willing to meet with her as often as she could manage to help her out, but she had five other classes (plus drama club and the school paper) and only so much time.

So the new guy could have been pretty much anybody, with poor hygiene or ugly sweaters or an annoying foot-tapping habit, and Dean would have been happy seeing Krissy get the support she needed. But, as it turned out, Castiel Novak was not only hygienic, he was knock-out gorgeous, all blue eyes and mussed hair, with a twisted tie and rolled up sleeves that  _did_ _things_  to Dean’s ability to think straight. When he strolled in with the students for last period, Dean immediately felt like one of his ninth-graders with a crush.

It was convenient, then, that Mr. Novak was one grumpy son of a bitch. Not with Krissy, of course—he gave her glowing smiles as she thanked him at the end of the day, and his earnest attention as he interpreted for her was incredibly endearing—but with Mr. Winchester, he was curt, professional, and occasionally demanding in a way that Dean found both hot and irritating.

After the first day, once all the students were gone, Novak confronted Dean as he erased the whiteboard.

"You need to slow down discussion, Mr. Winchester."

"Oh, do I?" Dean raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Yes. I have not yet memorized the seating chart, and you jump from student to student with hardly any pause, and it makes it difficult to tell Krissy who is talking."

Dean hesitated, realizing that he had a good point. Discussion in his class was quick and casual, and while he had a good view of the whole room, Krissy did not, which must make dialogues hard to follow. He put the eraser down and thought for a moment.

"Okay, I’ll work on that. Would it help if I called on students by name more?"

"Yes, Mr. Winchester, it would," Novak nodded.

"Call me Dean," he answered, but Novak was already heading for the door without so much as a "see you tomorrow."

"You’re welcome," Dean grumbled, picking the eraser back up. "Dick."

The next few days were much the same, his brief conversations with Novak giving him the distinct impression that his very existence was grievously offensive to the man. He couldn’t deny, though, that he was doing good work. Krissy had always been an excellent student, but now she was participating more in discussion than she ever had, and with greater confidence, and Dean had to wonder about just how hard she had been working to keep up before, coping with a less-than-stellar interpreter.

He also couldn’t help noticing the way Novak’s hair seemed to get messier (and hotter) with each passing day, or the way his elegant hands never seemed to tire as Dean waxed poetic, and at length, about heroic tropes in American fiction. Or the way Novak occasionally chuckled at his bad jokes and made sure to pass them along to Krissy, so she could roll her eyes with the rest of the class.

Maybe it was for the best that Novak was so anti-social, Dean thought. Because if he was friendly and charming as well as handsome, he would never be able to resist falling for him. He already suspected he was on shaky ground on Thursday, when Novak  _touched his arm_ to pull him aside after class. Dean just stood there with actual butterflies in his stomach as Novak frowned at him and explained in a fetchingly passionate way that he really needed to use videos with captions. It was too hard for Krissy to watch captionless videos while she had to keep looking to the side at Novak.

"She’s missing out, Mr. Winchester"—Dean had given up trying to get on a first-name basis with the man—"And it’s not just about content. She needs to feel included in instruction."

"Are you saying I’m excluding one of my students? Because I would never—"

"But you  _are_. By default. Not intentionally, but the result is the same. Krissy is being left out.”

"Look, Mr. Novak, I have thirty-five students in  _every_  class, and I work very hard, every day, to engage all of them as best I can, and you have  _no_  idea how hard that is.” Dean gripped his bag and jerked it over one shoulder. “And I  _will_  get video with captions next time, because I didn’t realize there was a problem, but I do now, and I’m not the asshole you apparently think I am.”

With that, Dean stomped out, not giving Novak a chance to respond.

That meant he missed seeing the way Castiel deflated, leaning against Dean’s desk and running a hand through his hair as if trying to get a grip on something much larger than he had ever anticipated. Finally, he picked up an eraser and cleaned off the whiteboard, since Dean had forgotten, and headed home.

Dean felt awful the next day, distracted and guilty and nervous about seeing Novak again. The guy was an expert at his job, clearly, and he really didn’t deserve Dean’s anger, even if his people skills left something to be desired. But Dean loved his students and his work, and it still stung to be called out for messing up.

Everything seemed normal in class. If Novak was upset, he wasn’t letting it affect his work, at least not as much as Dean was. Finally, after losing track of his thoughts a few times and getting curious looks from the students  _and_ Novak, he put them in groups to write collaborative responses to “A Good Man is Hard to Find.” It was a cop-out assignment, but it gave Dean a break from the pressure of the day (hell, the week), and the students, who were itching for the weekend, were glad of a chance to be more relaxed and social.

Dean was impressed, watching Krissy’s group, with how well her peers did at addressing her instead of her interpreter. Dean couldn’t manage that—couldn’t take his eyes off Novak, now that he had a chance to look in a way the students wouldn’t notice. He kept replaying their last conversation in his head, wondering how he had let such a sullen, frustrating, beautiful human being get so thoroughly under his skin.

When the bell rang and the students fled, Dean went to the door to wave them off, wishing them a good weekend. He was exhausted, but every smile and high-five lifted his spirits. He also wanted to make sure Mr. Novak didn’t leave before they had a chance to talk.

He needn’t have worried. When all the students had gone, Novak was sitting on the edge of Dean’s desk, arms folded, looking at the ground. Waiting.

"Hey, I’m sorry—" Dean began, but Novak interrupted him.

"Don’t. Please, it’s not your fault. Thirty-five students is a lot. I know—I’ve memorized six classes that size this week, because that’s how many classes Krissy is in. At my last school, there were four a day, no more than twenty students each. This is…exhausting. I don’t know how to handle it," he sighed, finally looking up at Dean. "I’m tired, and I took that out on you, and I’m sorry. I really am."

Dean was quiet for a moment while a very unexpected surge of affection washed over him. Of course the guy was nervous, switching into such a big school. Of course he was going to be a little short-tempered when he asked for help to make his job easier and Dean  _yelled_  at him for it. Dean felt even guiltier than he had before. Novak must have misinterpreted his silence, though, because he nodded, sadly.

"I’ll just go, then. I’ll see you Monday, Dean."

Dean caught his arm to stop him as he walked by.

"Hey, man, you gotta let me apologize, too. You were right, about the video, and I took it personally, and I shouldn’t have. Krissy’s lucky to have you looking out for her, and I’m…I’m glad you brought it up. I shouldn’t have yelled at you."

Dean knew he was still holding Castiel’s arm, but he didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want to let him leave until they had sorted this out, because whatever else he felt about the guy, they were a team in this classroom, and they had to be able to trust each other. Castiel looked down at his hand.

"How do you do it?" he asked quietly, raising his eyes to Dean’s. "Six classes a day? I’m so tired and scared of messing up all the time."

"I take it out on the TAs," Dean grinned, and he was rewarded with one of those wide, sunny smiles. "Come on," he added, pressing his luck a little, because that smile made him feel like he could do anything. "I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and tell you all my secrets."

He hadn’t meant anything by it, but Castiel laid one of those beautiful hands over Dean’s and asked, very quietly, “promise?” in a voice that made Dean’s knees go weak.

"Sure, Cas. Anything you want to know."

It was a good conversation that turned into a good weekend, and within a few weeks, Mr. Novak had settled in to the routine of the school very well, and Mr. Winchester’s classes slowed down a bit, which was better for a lot of the students, actually, and Krissy caught up beautifully. She also very much enjoyed occasionally winking at Mr. Winchester when she caught him looking at Mr. Novak, because he blushed a very entertaining shade of red.


	2. Chapter 2

"…so I told Mrs. Tran to shove her budget where the sun don’t shine, hopped on my pet dragon and flew away, my sequined superman cape flapping in the wind."

Dean nodded for a second, fiddling with the label on his empty beer, then looked up at Benny in surprise.

"Wait, what?"

"Brother, what is going on behind those princess eyes of yours? You haven’t been listening to a word I’m sayin’, and that started out as a mighty compelling tale about a couple I picked up at a bar in college."

They were sitting on Benny’s deck on a Friday night, trying to enjoy the first nice weekend of spring, but Dean was miles away. He felt like a heel; since Benny had been elected (very much against his will) to chair the biology department, they hadn’t seen much of each other outside of work, and little enough of each other  _at_  work, what with Benny’s new responsibilities.

"I’m sorry, man. I’m a shitty friend; start over. Promise I’ll pay attention this time."

Benny gave him an eyebrow.

"Hell, no. We’re talkin’ about you now, so spill. This about a certain blue-eyed TA you been standing me up to cuddle with?"

Dean didn’t rise to the bait; Benny wasn’t really trying to make him feel bad, just trying to keep it light. Light was pretty much the only way Dean knew how to talk about this sort of thing, usually. But tonight he didn’t feel light at all.

"Yeah, it’s about Cas. It’s been a few weeks now, and, I don’t know…"

"Not feelin’ it anymore? You thinkin’ about ending it?"

"No, definitely not," Dean answered quickly. "Kinda the opposite, actually. Benny, this guy… He’s something else," he said with a smile, looking up at the stars and sighing. "He’s smart and nice, but he’s intense and  _sarcastic_ , and”—Dean raised an eyebrow—“he’s got this tattoo—”

"I’m gonna stop you right there, brother, because I guaran-fucking-tee that I do not need to know about the tattoo." He finished his beer and gave Dean a long look. "You’re really in deep with this guy, huh?"

"I might be, man. This is…" Dean watched a satellite gliding overhead. "This is different. I don’t know what to do."

"Well, you gotta tell Singer for one thing."

Dean sat up with a start and looked at Benny so seriously that it was hard for Benny not to laugh.

"NO. I am not going to the principal and telling him that I’m banging one of the TAs."

"Dean, I know you don’t want to, because that would mean you’re actually serious about the guy, and that scares the shit outta you—" Dean’s death glare was obvious even in the dark."—but that’s school policy, and you’re risking  _both_ your jobs if you don’t come clean about doin’ the dirty. Which means that maybe,” he added, handing Dean another beer, “you oughta tell Cas what’s on your mind.”

Dean took the beer gratefully, and they sat in silence for a while before Dean spoke again.

"I think I’d rather tell Mrs. Tran to shove her budget where the sun don’t shine."

Benny laughed, long and loud, and they moved on to other topics. But Dean couldn’t quite shake what Benny had said. Telling Singer…that would mean that they both saw this going somewhere. Somewhere serious, somewhere real. Which meant that he needed to decide whether  _he_ was serious. And he had to know, one way or the other, how Cas felt about him.

He didn’t know what Cas would say, and he wasn’t sure what answer he was most scared of.

***

Castiel had his parent-teacher conference with Krissy’s parents after school on Tuesday (the regular teachers would have conferences for the next three afternoons, and after watching Dean prep for his, he was very grateful to have only one). Honestly, there wasn’t much to talk about; Krissy was excelling in her subjects, already talking about scheduling next year so she could get all her prerequisites done for her AP courses. Really, the conference was more about the three of them excitedly discussing her college prospects than anything else.

So, when they were wrapping things up and Mr. Chambers said there was something else they wanted to mention, Castiel expected it to be about college visits or something, not…not this.

"Mr. Novak, we don’t want to put our noses in your business—"

"We’re so happy with the way you’ve been helping Krissy." Mrs. Chambers interrupted.

"Yes, we really are. And it’s not our place to say anything, really, but Krissy mentioned that she thought, well…"

"That you and Mr. Winchester are dating," she finished for him.

"Yeah, and we don’t know if it’s true or just Krissy being an excitable teenager, but we wanted to make sure you know that we just think the world of both of you, and you don’t have to worry about us."

"Worry?" Castiel was dumbfounded, and while he  _had_  worried, on more than one occasion, about the possible consequences of a TA and a teacher dating, he had been willing to stifle them. He was enjoying himself with Dean, something he seldom did with anyone, to be honest, and he had buried his head firmly in the sand. Until now.

"Yes, we understand that parents sometimes report these things, worry about the impact on their kids’ education and such," Mr. Chambers continued. "But, frankly, we’ve seen nothing but improvement since you came to this school, and we would never do anything to jeopardize your place here."

"Or your happiness," Mrs. Chambers added with a smile.

And then they were gone. Castiel must have shaken hands, said something vaguely grateful, but his head was swimming. Whatever they’d said about not reporting, the fact remained that someone  _could_. It was in the code of conduct that employees in relationships with one another (was that what this was? A relationship?) had to inform the principal, in order to keep things above board. It wasn’t a bad rule, Castiel thought. But what did it mean for him and Dean?

***

Dean got Cas’s text as he was getting in the car to head home: “Krissy’s parents know about us, but they promised not to tell Principal Singer.”

His heart stopped. He had known that Krissy knew, or at least suspected, but if her parents knew, too, that meant that Benny was right. Promises or no, word would spread, and they would have to either admit to being serious about each other and come clean or…

Or end it.

Dean texted back: “Thx for the heads up.” He sat staring at his phone for a moment, then sent another text: “We still on for Fri?”

Three days until he would see Cas again, with conferences taking the place of afternoon classes for the rest of the week and prep work filling up the rest of Dean’s time. When they were first comparing schedules, it had seemed like an eternity. Now, he felt panic rising in his throat at how short the time was; three days, and then…who knows? He still wasn’t sure if he was ready to lock himself into this thing. He’d never been so messed up about a guy, and he couldn’t tell his feelings apart, couldn’t tell what was excitement and what was lust and what was…something else.

When he’d kissed Cas the first time, he’d been shaking all over with nerves like a goddamn teenager. They had been standing outside the coffee shop that first Friday, ready to go their separate ways after a long, rambling conversation about teaching and music and kids and  _everything_ , when he realized he was shaking, and thought he wouldn’t be able to stop shaking until he had Cas’s hands on him to keep him still. So he took a risk and leaned in, trying to tell himself it was just a kiss, it didn't have to mean anything. But then Cas had kissed him back, his hands and his mouth and his infectious  _want_ holding Dean in place, and an hour later they had been in Dean’s bed, gasping against each other’s skin and pulling the sheets off the mattress.

And it was great sex, that night and every time after, but if they confessed to Singer, that would mean it was more than just sex. It wouldn’t be “we’ve been sleeping together.” It would be “we want to be together.” And what if Cas didn’t want that? What if he  _did_?

"Yes." It was Castiel’s shortest text yet. Three days, Dean thought, turning the key in the ignition. Three days, and then he’d know.

***

Castiel spent the next three days going through the motions at work, then coming home to feed his cat (a grumpy stray called Crowley) and sit on the couch just…thinking. More often than not, he was thinking about the things he didn’t want to give up.

He didn’t want to give up the way Dean smiled when he walked into the room. He didn’t want to give up Dean’s hands, rougher than Castiel had expected but surprisingly graceful as Dean picked up more of the ASL he was teaching him. He really didn’t want to give up Dean’s lips, his tongue, the way he nuzzled against Cas in bed, petting his sides and hooking their legs together and just begging to be touched. He didn’t want to give up Dean’s encouragement and advice or the sound of their voices layered on top of one another when they laughed together.

It was bizarre. It hadn’t been that long, and they barely knew each other, he told himself. But there was something about Dean, something about  _him and Dean_ , something that made him feel totally content and like he couldn’t get enough at the same time.

From the first kiss, he had been gone. It had been warm out, too warm for winter, and they had been about to say goodbye outside the coffee shop. And Dean had reached out to put his shaking hands on Castiel’s waist, had kissed him with surprising softness. And he wasn’t sure if it was the shaking hands or the tenderness of the kiss or the way Dean gasped when Castiel kissed him back, but he knew right then and there. He would never pass up any chance to kiss this man.

Except…it wasn’t just about them; when Singer found out, he might choose to have Krissy moved to a different English class so that Castiel wasn’t working directly with Dean anymore. Castiel could live with not seeing Dean every afternoon, if he had to, but Krissy was thriving in his class. She loved the material, and even if Castiel wasn’t falling for Dean (and he _was_ , he admitted to himself with a shaky breath), he would say that Dean was one of the best teachers he’d ever worked with. No contest. He couldn’t do anything that would jeopardize Krissy’s place in his class.

On Thursday night, Castiel sat on the couch under a blanket with Crowley purring against the back of his neck. The cup of tea in his hands was cold, and all he could think about was how much he wanted Dean, how badly he wanted to be selfish and keep him, but also how much it could disrupt Krissy’s life to switch classes. How much Krissy depended on him as an aide and an advocate.

_We have to stop._

Just until summer, he reassured himself. Three months, and then Krissy would be done with ninth grade, and he and Dean could pick up where they left off. If Dean still wanted him. If three months without touching each other and only seeing each other at work didn’t leave Dean bored and resentful and ready to move on.

Maybe it would be a good thing. Castiel had been in one-sided relationships before. He had been the one to fall in love and push someone away by moving too fast and coming on too strong, and he could tell that Dean had been on the other side of the equation. Dean was the kind of person who kept things light, and if he was feeling crowded or pushed, three months would make it easy for him to get out. Three months was an escape hatch.

The thought made Cas sick to his stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

Krissy caught up with Mr. Novak in the parking lot, where he was frowning at his bike lock, which refused to open. He’d been frowning like that all week.

"Mr. Novak!" she signed when he noticed her running over. "Hold up, we have to talk."

"Yes, Krissy?"

"Look, I don’t know why you’ve been so stressed all week."

"I’m not—"

"Yes, you are. You’ve been grumpy. You practically body checked Miss Harvelle on your way out today." Krissy was pretty sure the young shop teacher was planning all sorts of revenge for that one. "And I know it’s none of my business, but if Mr. Winchester did something—"

"Krissy, it is really not appropriate to be discussing my personal life with you."

“ _If he did_ ,” she signed emphatically, “I want you to know that I would totally beat him up for you.” She would, too. There was at least one file folder in Principal Singer’s office about the fights she’d gotten into earlier in junior high, before her parents managed to get her IEP improved and she had become less of an outsider. People used to respect her fists; now they respected her intelligence. But that didn’t mean she’d forgotten how to throw a punch.

Mr. Novak sighed. Krissy knew what was coming—probably a lecture about violence not solving anything. Well, that was all well and good, but as far as she was concerned, all bets were off when it came to Mr. Novak. As much as she liked Mr. Winchester, nobody messed with her TA.

"Krissy, I appreciate your loyalty," he signed with a reluctant smile, "but that won’t be necessary. Mr. Winchester hasn’t done anything. It’s just been a long week. I’ll apologize to Miss Harvelle on Monday."

Krissy gave him a look. She wasn’t sure she believed him, but if he wasn’t going to talk, she couldn’t make him.

"Good. But if he ever does…" She smiled wickedly, and was happy when he smiled back.

"You’ll be the first call I make. Now, go home. Enjoy your weekend."

"You, too, Mr. Novak. Tell Mr. Winchester I said ‘hi.’" He rolled his eyes at her wink, but he was smiling as he pedaled away, and that was good enough for her.

***

"So, you proposing tonight?"

"Shut up, Benny. I’m here for your waffle iron, not your sarcasm."

"Package deal, brother," Benny said with a smirk, dropping the iron into Dean’s waiting arms. "Seriously, though, what’s the plan?"

"Honestly, man, I don’t know yet. I mean, I’ve thought about all the ways this could go, and all the ways it could go to shit, and I think I just have to go with my gut, y’know?"

Benny nodded sympathetically, hoping Dean’s gut wasn’t as stubborn and emotionally constipated as his head. Cas made his friend happy; it was that simple.

Except it wasn’t simple at all, Benny knew. Not for Dean. Hell, probably not for Cas, either. Much as Benny cared about the guy, he’d be lying if he said Dean Winchester was an easy man to love.

"Well, good luck and godspeed, brother."

"Quit looking at me like I’m going to war, dude. It’s freaking me out." Dean got behind the wheel of the Impala, tossing the waffle iron on the passenger seat and shutting the door a little harder than he intended. Benny chuckled.

"Sorry ‘bout that. Let me know how it goes. And clean the waffle iron right this time!" he yelled as Dean drove off, good-naturedly flipping him the bird out his open window.

Nope, not an easy man to love, Benny thought. But worth it, if you could figure out a way in.

***

Dean and Castiel both knew they had to make a decision about talking to Singer, and although they were avoiding the issue, it was obvious all night that it was all either of them could think about. The comfortable silences they had shared over the last few weeks were now full of sharp edges, and everything was going wrong. Dean had burned the waffles, and Castiel’s hands were shaking so bad he knocked over the wine bottle. He was lucky it hadn’t broken, or there would have been shards everywhere in addition to the stain rapidly spreading across the dining room rug.

Dean made a bad joke about hating the rug anyway, threw down a few towels to soak it up, and told Castiel to forget about it, but his smile was tight, and Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to laugh.

After dinner, Dean went to the kitchen to get dessert, and Castiel was left sitting at the table, frowning at the stained rug. It was a beautiful room: the house was more than a century old, small but full of stunning details, like the intricate iron grates over the vents and the wood molding that had a different style and personality in every room. It was a house it would be easy to feel at home in, and he really had. Until now.

Now, it felt small and tight and cold. He thought about the one armchair by the fireplace and the office that was too small for two desks. He thought about Dean, and how well he fit here, how long he’d been living here on his own and content with that, and he wondered what  _he_  was doing here. Why he’d stayed that first night. Why he’d let himself fall so hard.

They had to talk about it. Otherwise, what were they doing? Going through the motions of a date night that neither of them was enjoying, pretending everything was normal. It had to stop. Castiel got up from the table; he wanted to talk in the kitchen, where the light was brighter and things would look harsher and he could see things in a practical way.

He was so determined that he started to go through the door without looking, and he collided with Dean before it even registered that he was about to hit something. Dean tried to save the pie by lifting it up but really only succeeded in pouring the warm strawberries down both their shirts and onto the unstained corner of the rug. The pie pan clattered to the floor.

“ _Shit._ " Castiel crouched down to clean up the mess without thinking about how he had nothing to clean it with. The filling was starting to seep into the rug, deeper and deeper, and he tried to use his hands to scoop it back into the pan, but it wasn’t working. Dean stood over him, watching.  _He should be laughing at this_ , Castiel thought as they both stared forlornly at the mess.  _He should be making a joke_.

"Cas…" Castiel stared resolutely at the carpet.

"My mess, I’ll clean it up."

"Cas, leave it," Dean said, pulling him up by the arms and looking at him for a moment. Dean looked like he wanted to say something important but couldn’t quite find the words. "Come on. Let’s get cleaned up."

Dean led him down the hall to the bathroom, where he slowly removed Castiel’s shirt, then his own, tossing them in the old clawfoot bathtub to wash later. He pulled a couple hand towels off the rack and held them under warm water for a second before starting to clean the strawberries off of Cas’s chest, and Cas took the other towel to do the same for Dean.

Even after the strawberries were gone, Dean continued to run the towel along Cas’s collarbone, his neck, over the curves of his chest. Cas did the same for him, gently massaging his shoulders and neck. They worked quietly like that for a long while, but it wasn’t the sharp, dangerous silence of earlier; it was quieter, somehow. Cas couldn’t help wondering if this was them saying  _goodbye_ _,_ cleaning up the evidence of their collision with soft touches and silence.

When the damp towel lost its warmth, Dean impulsively replaced it with his lips, dropping kisses on Cas’s skin until Cas dropped his own towel, putting his arms around Dean’s waist and pulling him in, holding him tight. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and they buried their faces in each other’s shoulders. They both still smelled like strawberries.

"Cas," Dean whispered into his hair, "I’m no good at this. I’ve fucked up so many relationships because I’m no good at staying still." He held Cas so close that they couldn’t see each other’s faces; maybe that was on purpose. "I’ve had a longer relationship with Herman Melville than with anyone I’ve dated. And it really fucking scares me how much I want to stay still with you, but I do." He took a deep breath. "I want to give this a chance. I want to tell Singer about us."

Cas let out a shaky breath and held Dean tighter, lifting one hand to the back of his neck and pressing their bodies together for a fleeting moment before pulling away. Dean thought for one hopeful moment that he was going to kiss him, say yes, he felt the same way, but then he saw Cas’s face and knew he was wrong.

"We have to stop, Dean."

The floor seemed to be dissolving under Dean's feet. Cas didn’t want him, not the way he wanted Cas, and it was so much worse than he had imagined it would be. He nodded, trying to keep his face still, but Cas’s eyes were searching his, and somehow Cas understood what he was thinking.

"No, I don’t mean…" He took Dean’s face in his hands, forced him to look at him. "I don’t want to end this. You have no idea how badly I want you, Dean. But it isn’t just about us. If we go to Singer, even if we promised to stop, he might not want us working together. He could move Krissy out of your class, away from her friends, away from you. She’s worked too hard. I can’t… I can’t let that happen. I can’t be selfish…" His voice faded into a whisper. Dean felt suddenly angry. Why did Cas have to be so damn  _thoughtful_? So fucking worried about everybody else. So fucking _good_.

"I can. I can be selfish, Cas. Krissy is a great student, she’d do fine. And we don’t know—"

"I can’t take that chance. I’m not just a TA, Dean. I’m the one person in that school who’s there _just_ for her. It’s my job to fight for her. And part of that is making sure that she gets to have  _you_  for a teacher.” He smiled sadly. “Why’d you have to be so fucking good at your job?” Dean closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Cas’s, trying to memorize the feeling of being close to him, like he could store it up for later, return to this memory whenever he felt sad or alone.

"I don’t want to give you up," he whispered. Now that he’d finally said it, it seemed to be all he could say.  _I want you. Stay with me. Please._ Like if he said it enough or in just the right words, Cas would have to accept it and stay. But Dean knew he woudn’t. That wasn’t who Cas was.

"It’s just until summer. After school ends, we can pick up right where we left off. If you want to."  _  
_

"I want to," Dean answered quickly. "I will want to. I’m not going anywhere."

Cas nodded, but Dean couldn’t tell if he believed him, and then Cas was pulling away, farther and farther away until the cold air between them sent a shiver up Dean’s spine.

"I should go," Cas said.

"Cas—"

"I can’t stay. If I stay now, I’ll never leave."

It was a goodbye and a promise, and as Cas picked up his shirt from the tub and walked away, Dean felt the words as if they were burned into his ribs. It hurt like hell.


	4. Chapter 4

Krissy knew right away that something was massively wrong. Mr. Novak, whose signing was usually quick and expressive, seemed to have lost all the energy in his hands and eyes. And it wasn’t bad enough to disrupt her participation in class, but the worry she felt for him was.

By the end of the day, they were both clearly unhappy, and things weren’t any better in Mr. Winchester’s class. In fact, they were worse: the teacher and the TA wouldn’t look at each other at all. It reminded Krissy of when her parents fought behind closed doors, as if not yelling in front of her would keep her from knowing something was wrong, as if, if they hid it well enough, everyone could pretend everything was normal. But Krissy hated pretending.

She went to Mr. Lafitte’s classroom right after school, not hanging around long enough to see whether Mr. Novak and Mr. Winchester would even nod politely to each other as they left for the day. The gruff science teacher was friends with Mr. Winchester, and he was her best shot. When he tried to make some excuse about a meeting—“I’m chair now, Chambers, I have very boring and important things to do”—she planted herself in his classroom doorway and slowly (he had picked up a lot of ASL, but most of his vocabulary had to do with course content, not the love lives of his colleagues) explained what she’d seen all day, and what she suspected had happened. And the look on Mr. Lafitte’s face told her she’d made the right choice.

***

"Dean, this is…let’s see…the fourth voicemail? I am parked on your front steps with a six pack, brother, and I ain’t going anywhere until you talk to me. Get your mopey ass out here." Benny frowned at the door, and he was thinking about just picking the lock and going right in when his friend finally yanked it open and came out to join him.

"Not sure six’ll be enough," he grumbled, sitting down on the top step and glaring at the sun light it had personally offended him.

"Let’s start with one and see how you do."

They finished the six pack around when Dean finished talking about Friday, then they went inside to sound the depths of a bottle of whiskey. It was a long night.

***

When he got the email from Singer the next day at lunch (“My office. 3PM. Don’t waste my time dawdling.”), Dean’s first instinct was to flee. Cut class like a teenager and hit the road for a few days and hope all this shit would blow over and they could just go back to normal. His second instinct was to call Cas and find out if he knew what the fuck was going on. It had to be about them, right? Cas was copied on the email. Unless it was about Krissy, but why wouldn’t Singer just say that?

The last few classes of the day were rough, and not just because he was still slightly hungover. When last period ended, he and Cas fell into step beside each other on their way to Singer’s office, but neither of them spoke. It was like walking to the gallows, but hey, at least if they both got fired (Singer wouldn’t do that, would he?), they wouldn’t have to wait ‘til summer to get back together. They’d both be totally heartbroken, but at least it would be a different kind of heartbreak.

"Sit down, you two," Singer growled, shutting the door and pointing at the two chairs normally reserved for delinquent students.

"Principal Singer—"

"Shut up, Novak. You two are going to listen, and you’re going to listen good, and you’re not going to say anything ‘til I’m done. You understand? Just nod."

They did.

"Fine. As I understand it, you two have been romantically involved for weeks, your student knew about it, and you didn’t tell me."

"She didn’t—"

"Did I say you could talk, Winchester?" Singer gave him a look like he could not fucking believe he had to deal with this shit. "Anyway, after weeks of this, you two idjits start falling in love, then decide to  _break up_  ‘cause you don’t trust my judgement when it comes to looking after my students, and then you proceed to make  _all_  of your students _and_ your fellow teachers miserable for two days ‘cause you miss each other so much you’re crying into your gradebooks. That about sum it up?”

They just looked at him, dumbfounded.

"You can talk now, if you got anything intelligent to say."

"We were worried about Krissy," Castiel said quickly. "It’s not that we didn’t trust you, it was just…"

"It seemed best not to risk her being transferred," Dean stepped in to explain. "She’s been doing really well."

"Yeah, she has," Singer answered. "I wonder why. Could it have anything to do with the fact that two of her favorite teachers were actually really happy for once in their godforsaken lives? Shut up, Novak, you might be new here, but you got the stink of emotional baggage all over you. Boys, you’ve spent two days broken up. Tell me, how’s that going for you? For your students?"

Dean and Castiel glanced at each other sheepishly. It hadn’t been going well, and everybody knew it.

"Here’s what’s going to happen. You two are going to work out your crap, whatever that means. I don’t want details. Krissy is going to stay where she is unless I get complaints that you’re too busy making moon eyes at each other to teach. And if I have to get involved in either of your personal lives again, I am going to fire you on principle for being pains in my ass. Do we understand each other?"

They both nodded.

"Good. Now get the hell out of my office." Singer waited until they were headed for the door to let himself smile.

***

Krissy’s junior high graduation party was on the first Saturday after school ended, and Dean and Cas arrived together. Holding hands. It was the best present Krissy could have asked for.

"Looks like you’re finally getting rid of me, kid," Dean signed as they sat in the Chambers’ back yard eating cake.

"Yeah, and good riddance," Krissy answered. "I hated  _Huckleberry Finn.”_

"I know. You only got a B+ on that test," he teased, and she stuck her tongue out at him, making them all laugh. "I am proud of you, though. You’re going to be amazing next year."

Krissy didn’t have anything to say to that, but she smiled widely and let Mr. Winchester give her a fistbump, which he’d been angling for all year. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Everyone was lighthearted that day. Krissy because she was looking forward to summer, then high school in the fall, and because her interpreter was smiling like his face was stuck that way, and she was pretty sure he and Mr. Winchester would have been holding hands all day if they didn’t need them for talking.

And Cas was happy because he’d just finished moving his things into Dean’s tiny house, which, as it turned out,  _did_ have room for an extra desk in the office. It actually had room for a lot of things, including Crowley. (Dean was allergic, but the cat didn’t seem to like him much, either, so they settled into a pattern of mutual avoidance). The dining room rug was long gone, because it really had been ugly, even before the wine and strawberries had made it look like a murder scene.

And Dean was happy because he had woken up that morning with Cas covering him like a blanket, and he had traced the beautiful tattooed wings on his back with his fingers and had buried his face in his hair and had woken him up with kisses, and he had all the time in the world to do it again and again, every morning for the foreseeable future.

Benny gave them a waffle iron as a housewarming gift.


	5. Chapter 5

They’d only been together, officially and publicly, for three months when Castiel moved into Dean’s house, and it was rough at first. Castiel struggled to feel at ease, always a little tense at home, always hyperaware of Dean's presence, in good ways and less good ways. It wasn't that Dean hadn't made him feel welcome, and they'd rearranged plenty of furniture to make room for his things. Crowley the cat was settling in fine, despite a tendency to sit on top of the china cabinet and swat at Dean's head from time to time. But Dean... Dean hadn't relocated. Hadn't uprooted himself and his life, and it felt to Castiel like he hadn't made any changes at all. Like they were living in Dean's house instead of  _their_ house, like he would have to be the one to make all the compromises, because it just didn't occur to Dean that any would have to be made.

Castiel wasn't one to let things sit and be awkward or broken, but the trouble was that he wasn't sure what was wrong. He couldn't pinpoint why he felt so unsettled, and it took a couple weeks for him to figure it out: the problem wasn't Cas being there, it was _Dean_ being there. He was spending a lot of his free time that summer doing repairs around the house, working on his car, just being a homebody in general, and it was making it hard for Cas to feel like it was his home, too. The house was so clearly _Dean's_.

"So, tell him to get out for a while," Samandriel advised as they drove to the local college. Few teachers, and fewer teachers' aides, can get by without working in summers: Castiel taught ASL, and Samandriel, a math support teacher at Cas’s school, taught a range of developmental math classes. They had been friends in college, and Cas was glad to have reconnected with him. He didn’t make friends easily (Dean often teased him about picking fights not being a socially acceptable ice-breaker), but he valued the friends he did have very highly.

"And how would you suggest I phrase that? 'I dislike having you here in your house, please vacate for a few days'?" Castiel laughed.

"Okay, maybe not like that. But you have to be honest with him about what you need, Castiel. It’s not going to get fixed if you just let it fester."

"I appreciate the advice, but I think I need to find a more diplomatic phrasing." It wasn't a bad idea, exactly. Castiel would love to have some time alone in the house, just to live in it for a while on his own and try to feel like he belonged there. But there was no good way to say that that wouldn't sound like he didn't like Dean's company, and Cas was trying, really trying, to be less abrasive. To, as Dean put it, "mellow out."

"He's turning you soft," Samandriel answered, not without a small smile. "You always did have too much heart, but you used to hide it better."

"I didn't _hide_ it, I just... kept it to myself. And you'd do well not to tease me about my relationship, when I've seen the way you flutter your eyelashes at Muriel." Samandriel had had a crush on the history teacher forever. He’d even volunteered to help with drama club because she was the faculty advisor, and he'd discovered an unexpected talent for costume design and sewing.

"I do _not_ flutter, Castiel. I am beguiling. I am Casanova. Rudolph Valentino.”

“You are a math teacher, Samandriel,” Castiel reminded him. “But she seems to like you for some reason that I cannot fathom, so I would encourage you to move on from beguiling to actual conversation. She’s going to think you’re not interested if you keep moving so slowly.”

“You slept with Dean on your first date, and it wasn’t even a real date, so you can keep your advice about pacing to yourself.”

“Touché.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cas brought up the idea over dinner a few days later. They sat together on the front porch swing, eating sandwiches and trying to catch a breeze. Neither of them had felt like turning the oven on; it seemed to be getting hotter at night lately instead of cooler, the kind of heat where just _existing_ expended too much energy.

“I’ve been thinking,” Cas began, ignoring Dean’s look of concern. “You were unhappy this spring with how little time you were able to spend with Benny, given his responsibilities at work and our, um, time together.” Dean set aside his plate and turned so he could look at Cas.

“...yeah, I guess I did feel bad about that. But, Cas, you know I wasn’t--I’m not-- _unhappy_ about us, right? It’s not like I resent our ‘time together,’ “ Dean answered with a cautious smile. Castiel rested a hand reassuringly on Dean’s knee.

“I know, Dean. Don’t worry, I’m not feeling insecure or guilty. I just want to make sure you know that I want you to spend time with your friends. I don’t want you to feel that you have to be here all the time. You’ve been…” Cas couldn't remember how he'd planned to phrase it. Nothing sounded kind enough. _  
_

“Shit, I’ve been hovering, haven’t I?" Dean supplied. "Sam complains that I do that to him when he visits. I’ll knock it off, promise.”

Cas smiled. He was looking forward to meeting Sam, and he was glad that Dean’s younger brother was able to be blunt about such things, because it was making _his_ life easier.

“A little, yes. But you’re also… just here. All the time. I lived alone for more than half my life, Dean, and it has been difficult to adjust to always having another person around, even when you aren’t, um, hovering.” He took a sip of iced tea, lifting the cool glass to his forehead to avoid looking at Dean. “I thought maybe you and Benny could go camping some weekend--I know you were talking about that last time he and Andrea had us over--and I could stay here and just… settle in.” Cas drew patterns in the condensation on his glass; he wasn’t sure he wanted to see Dean’s face, because if he took it the wrong way…

“Hey,” Dean said, running a hand through Cas’s sweat-damp hair to make him turn his head. “You need space, all you gotta do is ask, okay? I know how I can be. I’ve been reliably informed that I’m one exhausting sonofabitch,” he grinned, and Cas chuckled in agreement. “I’ll make a plan with Benny and get out of your hair for a few days, no problem. I’m gone. Just, uh, promise you’ll be here when I get back, okay?”

Cas’s smile melted away. He thought he said it enough, thought it was obvious, but sometimes Dean surprised him like this. With little things, signs that he didn’t quite believe Cas was real or here to stay. It was in the way Dean was always awake when Cas came back to bed after getting up in the night, and the way he held him as they fell back asleep. The way he touched Cas absent-mindedly, as if to reassure himself that he wasn’t imagining him. The way he looked now, a teasing smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and his hand tight over Castiel’s.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas said, turning his hand to lace their fingers together, “you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” He leaned over to kiss Dean’s cheek. “I love you,” he added, whispering the words against Dean’s skin, sweet and sincere.

“Me too, Cas.” Dean smiled over at him as Cas pulled back, and Cas was relieved to see that the fear was gone from his eyes. “Love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a good weekend. Castiel spent most of it just wandering the house, sitting in all the different chairs with books pulled from random shelves, trying to figure out the organization of the spice rack (it was not quite alphabetical, but there did seem to be a system. He’d have to ask Dean to explain it), getting up early and watching how the sunrise slowly changed the color of the kitchen walls, from a soft grey-blue to warm lavender. He listened to the sounds the house made at night, and he slept on Dean’s side of the bed. It was quiet and peaceful, getting to know the house like a new friend, finding how he fit in it.

He spent Saturday afternoon in the office working on lesson plans and had Samandriel over that night. He cooked dinner, using an unnecessary number of pans and plates just to become familiar with them, and they talked about Muriel. Samandriel insisted that he wasn’t pining. Castiel suggested a double date and hoped his friend would take him up on the offer.

On Sunday Cas spent the morning in the garden, trying to sort out the flowers from the more invasive weeds. When he’d asked Dean what he was growing, he’d shrugged and answered, “I dunno, whatever wants to grow there.” Cas had explained that hospitality wasn’t always a virtue, and Dean had offered him free reign over all gardening decisions from then on.

The night Dean was coming back, Cas sat on the porch swing and watched the fireflies in the yard. It had rained that afternoon, finally cooling the air, and Cas had put on one of Dean’s hoodies, a faded one from Stanford that was so big it had to have been Sam’s at some point. It kept him warm, but it also smelled like Dean, and both of those things made him very happy.

But that happiness was nothing like seeing Dean pull into the driveway. Nothing like Dean’s smile when he realized Cas was on the porch waiting for him, still there, just like he promised. Nothing could match the happiness of wrapping his arms around Dean, and kissing him, and walking back into their house together.

 After that, they both worked harder at making space for each other. When Dean came home wanting to talk, Cas was there. When Cas came home needing some time to himself, Dean would give him space until Cas had recharged. Dean explained the secrets of the spice rack, and Cas cleared a piece of the garden for a bench where Dean could sit and read while Cas tended the plants. And sometimes one of them would go away for a little while, but they always came home again, and they were always happy to see each other.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean _hated_ school. Not the teaching, obviously. Or the students. Or his colleagues. No, what Dean hated was the fact that although they lived together and saw each other every single day, he and Cas no longer _worked_ together. He missed that. He missed the way they’d sync up, finding a pace for the class that _worked._ He missed the way Cas laughed at his bad jokes and the way the class responded to their mutual appreciation. He missed collaborating on curriculum and trouble-shooting lessons with Cas. He used to love just watching him work, his hands somehow wild and precise at once as he interpreted, his face lit up, expressive because it was part of his job but also because he loved what he did. His energy made Dean love his own work all the more. Like Krissy said, they were drift compatible.

So when school started again at the end of summer and Krissy moved on to high school, taking her interpreter (and the love of Dean’s life. Yeah, he said it. So what?) to the building around the corner, it took a while to adjust. Dean found himself pacing more at the front of his classroom, trying to fill what felt like a vast empty space, and he occasionally punctuated his thoughts with signs, realizing only later that Krissy wasn’t there anymore to tease him when he was sloppy or nod in approval when he got something right.

Yeah, he missed her, too. Teachers don’t play favorites, except that they do, and she was a brilliant pain in the ass. Cas told him she was doing well, and he wasn’t surprised, but it was hard not to go over to the high school and check up on her. Okay, on _them_. Whatever.

He’d surprised himself with how quickly he’d come to rely on having Cas in his vicinity. Dean had never been a clingy guy, pretty much the opposite. Except that maybe he had been, he just never let himself get that far with anybody before because he knew; something in him knew how difficult it would be to let go, even if it was just letting go of Cas’s hand every morning in the parking lot so they could go to their separate buildings. That never got easier. They'd talked about it, and he'd learned to give Cas his space and to trust that he'd always come back, but he still felt disappointed every morning when Cas turned away.

Principal Singer kept him plenty busy in his down time, though, which was helpful. Not that he liked cafeteria duty, but it had its perks. A little fresh air when he checked up on the seniors who sat outside, the chance to hang out with the students in a less formal way, teach them the really important stuff, like the history of classic rock, and the endless supply of stolen french fries wasn’t bad, either.

And, occasionally, there was something else, too. Some days, if he got really lucky, he’d get called to the track behind the high school because somebody spotted kids smoking under the bleachers. Dean was adamantly opposed to smoking at any age, a fact he had made clear to Singer on numerous occasions, and thus he had become the default person to deal with such things while on lunch duty.

Like today. It was one of the first really cold days of the fall, and he half jogged toward the track, breath white in the air in front of him. It was quiet this time of day, one of those short windows of time when none of the gym classes from either school (the track was shared between the junior high and high school) were using the field in the middle of the track. The quiet was part of the charm of this job; it was never quiet, not for a minute, inside the school.

Dean rounded the bleachers with a commanding look on his face. If they were any of his students, he had to show he meant business; they tended to think of him as a friend more than he should really encourage. But they weren’t his students, as it turned out. They weren’t any students. _They_ were actually _he_ , a tall, smirking, blue-eyed man in a trenchcoat.

"Do you have a hallpass?" Dean demanded as he walked over, trying and failing to keep a smile off his face.

"I’m afraid not, Mr. Winchester. I am playing truant." Castiel’s grin matched his own, although he had the decency to hang his head a little in mock-shame. Dean went right for his hips, pulling him close.

"You are such a bad boy, Cas." He ducked his head to kiss along Cas’s jawline.

"Tell me, do you have a thing for bad boys?"

"Do I ever. Want me to show you?"

Cas glanced around, as paranoid as an actual teenager. Dean continued to suck gently on his neck, careful not to leave any marks (he only put those where no students could possibly notice them).

"We have ten minutes. Mr. Fitzgerald is showing a video about the mating habits of birds." He pushed Dean back just far enough to see his eyes. "It has _captions_.”

"Oh, you’re bringing that up again? Our first fight?"

"Does it really count as a fight, if you later admitted that you were wrong?"

"Pretty sure you did, too," Dean said with a grin.

"Not about the captions."

"Would you just shut up and kiss me already? Before some teacher comes and catches us." Cas finally relented, draping his arms around Dean’s neck and kissing him soft and slow.

Dean missed working with Cas, but there was something special about these moments, too. These stolen fragments of the day, when they kissed not with heat or urgency or need but with relief. They kissed the way the rain kisses the hot pavement after a long summer afternoon, cool and gentle. Kisses that eased away the tension of the morning and gave them calm and steadiness for the rest of the day.

Dean _hated_ school. But he loved school, too. And he loved playing hooky with the hot TA, almost as much as he loved going home with him every night and waking up with him every morning. It wasn’t easy—moments like this were rare, and work filled their evenings more often than not—but nothing ever is easy, not really. Nothing worthwhile, anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean woke up alone in the bed; he rolled over into the warm spot Cas had left and listened to the shower down the hall, letting himself linger in his dream, something summery and happy, with sunshine and possibly sangria. He smiled into the pillow; it smelled like Cas. Like both of them, really, like most things in the house. Dean liked the way Cas had folded himself into everything here over the last seven months: the pile of blankets on the back of the sofa, the fancy ass cutting boards in the kitchen, the shoes Cas always left by the door, no matter how many times Dean tripped over them. How had he lived here so long alone, he wondered, with Cas-shaped holes in every room?

He burrowed deeper into the bed, chasing his summer dreams as the cold air forced him into consciousness. January. Fucking January, with the ice and the cold and the unending darkness, and the unbearably cold hallway between the warm bed and the hot shower…

 _Shit_ . How long had Cas been in there? Dean grabbed for his phone. 6:15. _Shit shit shit._

"Cas!" he called, pulling the comforter around him and dragging it down the hall, unwilling to let go of the little bit of warmth left in it. Crowley appeared from somewhere and chased after him, pouncing on the corner of the blanket and not helping Dean’s mood. "Cas, you're going to use all the hot water again! Come on, man..."

The steam in the bathroom felt amazing, but Dean knew he didn't have time to enjoy it. Small old house, small old water heater, and Cas _still_ conveniently forgot that he wasn't living in an apartment with unlimited hot water anymore, and also _he had a boyfriend who would also like a hot shower thankyouverymuch_.

"You decent? 'Cause I'm comin' in," Dean warned as he shut the door again to keep the steam in and Crowley out and stripped off his pajamas.

"I'm not and you know it. Get your ass in here," Cas teased. "It's cold out there."

"Ya think?" Dean tossed his wool socks in a pile with the comforter and everything else and pulled back the curtain, stepping in and intending to head straight for the hot water, Cas be damned, but…

"Hello, Dean."

God, how did he do that? That voice, and that fucking hair, all wet and sticking up, and the smirking like he had a secret thing. Took Dean's breath away all the damn time.

"Hey, Cas. Look, man, we've talked about this. There's only so much hot water in that rusty old heater..."

"So what took you so long?" Cas wrapped one wet arm around Dean's waist and pulled him under the spray for a kiss. This was... inefficient, Dean thought. Waste of water. Had to shampoo and rinse and the water was definitely not as hot as it should be but Cas's hands were warm and…

 _Shit_. They were going to be late for work.

 

* * *

 

Castiel really tried to remember about the hot water, but it was a hell of an adjustment to have to make. And Dean might be used to the drafts in the old house, but Castiel wasn't; his blankets and scarves were scattered everywhere in case he needed them, which he pretty much always did. Still, they managed okay. Better than okay, most of the time. And winter wasn’t so long, really, when you had someone to keep you warm at night.

Cas was glad, though, when signs of spring started popping up--more sunny days, the last of the ice melting away from the curbs, the garden prematurely green with tiny shoots (he would have to hope another cold snap wouldn’t come through to kill the optimistic little suckers). Everyone’s moods improved in spring, too--Dean informed him that even Principal Singer had been caught smiling. And Singer must have been feeling truly magnanimous, because Dean had managed to convince him (and he had managed, somehow, to convince Mrs. Tran) to find some funding for a few teachers (himself included) to start taking classes toward their Master’s degrees over the summer.

Things were going well at the high school, too. Krissy was doing brilliantly in tenth grade, and she had made it her mission to whip the school paper into shape in a terrifyingly efficient manner. Her regular column about the failures of special education programs had received attention from the local press and from the school board, who badly mishandled the situation by publishing an open letter in the county newspaper in defense of recent budget cuts. Castiel had been to a lot of school board meetings, but nothing could beat the one Krissy spoke at; she absolutely shredded the arguments in that asinine letter and shamed the board within an inch of their lives. He couldn’t have been more proud if she’d been his own daughter.

It was a busy spring, all things considered, and summer was shaping up to be at least as hectic, between Dean and Cas’s summer teaching and Dean _taking_ classes now. On top of all that, Muriel was trying to get Castiel to agree to step in as interpreter for the community theater for the summer. It didn’t pay a lot, but every little bit made a difference, and he was considering accepting. Besides, Samandriel had almost certainly been roped into helping as well (Muriel had given up waiting on him and had finally asked  _him_  out. They'd even been voted “cutest couple” at the winter formal, much to Samandriel’s embarrassment). His friend's presence would ease some of the nerves that would come from working with so many new people.

“What kind of time commitment would that be?” Dean asked, looking up from his desk with a frown. Castiel was sitting in an armchair they’d wedged into a corner, feet up on his desk chair and calendar in hand.

“A few nights a week, two weeks each month. Matinees on Sundays. It wouldn’t be too bad,” he promised, somewhat unconvincingly.

“Yeah, but I thought we were going to try to get away some this summer. You know, actually go on vacation? And not just a weekend at Benny and Andrea’s cabin. Full-on, destination, find someone to babysit your demon cat _vacation_.”

“Dean, we could use the money.”

“What good’s the money if we never spend it on things? Things like margaritas and sunscreen. I could rub sunscreen all over you, Cas,” he said with a wink. Castiel sighed.

“We might still be able to make that work. As long as Muriel knows in advance when I’m not available, she can make sure the promotional materials indicate which shows will have an interpreter and which won’t. Or I get get Meg to fill in for a couple.”

“Good. Look, I’ve been going over the course catalog, and I can be done after the first week in August. That’s also the last week of summer school, which gives me two full weeks before I have to be back to start the fall semester.”

“The community college goes a week later, though, and I can’t skip the last week of teaching.”

“Seriously? You can’t play hooky _once_?” Castiel wanted to give in but he made himself frown disapprovingly instead. Dean was a very bad influence. Also a very good influence, but it could be hard to tell which he was being at any given time. “Okay, fine,” he relented. “That gives us a week in August. One week. So we gotta make it count.”

 

* * *

  

They spent the next two weeks throwing around vacation ideas. Dean went tropical, angling for Costa Rica or the Bahamas, and Castiel countered with a tempting road trip along Route 66, but they both knew they couldn’t afford the former, and the latter would take more time than they had if they wanted to do it right.

Cas suggested they visit Sam in California (he’d become very fond of Dean’s younger brother when they met at Christmas), but Dean argued that he hadn’t met any of Cas’s family yet (“there’s a reason for that, Dean, and it’s entirely their fault”), so the conversation stalled a bit. It wasn’t that Cas hated his family, more that they didn’t quite understand his life choices and didn’t really care to try, so they’d sort of drifted apart. He really only kept in touch with his sister, Anna, but she traveled all the time for the non-profit she ran, and it was impossible to pin her down for a visit. So, family was basically out. They were running out of ideas.

 

* * *

 

 

 **we could do a wilderness adventure** , Dean texted. **i could save you from a bear attack. very romantic.**

 **You could also fail to save me from a bear attack. Less romantic.** Cas hit send and smiled at his phone before returning to his notes. He was spending the afternoon at the school library working on his summer curriculum, since he had to be there that the evening anyway to interpret at an “Applying for College” information session. At least, he was trying to work on curriculum, but Dean kept distracting him (he could just put the phone away, but…)

**such a pessimist. how about niagara falls? I’ll bring the barrel.**

**New York? We could live our dreams and become Broadway stars.**

**texas? i hear everything is bigger there ;)** Cas snorted aloud at that. Also at Dean’s refusal to use capital letters; he had somehow thought an English teacher would be more invested in such things, but it was all part of Dean’s charm. Then again, Cas found everything about Dean charming.

 **I’m not entirely sure what you’re implying with that winking face but I think it’s best to say no to that,** he answered. He thought it over for a minute; they had so little time, he didn’t want to end up going somewhere they didn’t really care about, just because they couldn’t think of anything better. **I meant it about visiting Sam. I know your family means a lot to you, Dean.**

There was a pause before Dean answered.

**yeah but yours is important too. i know you don’t talk much, but don’t you want to see them? anna at least?**

**That doesn’t sound like a vacation to me. And god knows where Anna will be.**

**wish we had a way to see everybody,** Dean said. Cas sighed and closed the book in front of him. He knew family was important to Dean, and he _wanted_ to be closer to his as well, especially his brothers, but somehow it seemed like too much to ask. He wasn’t going to be the guy who dragged his boyfriend into his parents’ huge, cold house in Newport and made him sit through awkward conversations with relatives he barely knew anymore. **Me, too,** he answered. **Too many people, too far apart. Not enough time.**

**what if we got them to come here?**

**How?** Cas would love to see that, watch his mother turn up her nose at their little house. It wouldn’t have to be all bad, though. Balthazar would like Dean, he was sure. And Gabriel could be agreeable when he wasn’t being an ass. Sam and Anna might get along.

A few minutes passed, and Cas thought Dean might have gotten distracted, or maybe just didn’t have an answer, but then his phone flashed again:

**how about a wedding?**

 

* * *

 

Dean was sitting in the kitchen, trying very hard not to hyperventilate, and the fact that Crowley was sitting on the table glaring at him like he _knew_ wasn’t helping. It had been ten minutes since he’d texted Cas, and his phone hadn’t made a sound. Was it broken? Maybe the network was down? He texted himself to check, and it came through fine. Shit, what if Cas was freaking out, trying to figure out how answer him? What if this was Cas _turning him down_?

It had almost been an accident; he’d typed the message without thinking, because what other excuse could get everybody in one place at the same time? What else would people travel halfway across the country for? And writing it out like that felt… it felt _good._ So he’d sent it.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been thinking about it. Wasn’t like he hadn’t imagined how it would feel when--if--Cas put a ring on his finger to make him his. What it would be like to put a ring on _Cas’s_ finger. He knew his hands would shake, because Cas just _did_ that to him. He had since the beginning. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t imagined what it would be like to call Cas his _husband_. Yeah, he’d thought about getting married kind of a lot, and _shit._ Cas didn’t know any of that, because _god forbid_ Dean actually admit how gone he is on the guy.

All Cas knew was that they’d been joking about Niagara Falls and Broadway, and now Dean was proposing, and what if he thought that was a joke, too? He thought about calling him, but that would probably just make it worse. Besides, Cas had that meeting starting any minute. Maybe he hadn’t even seen the text. Maybe it would be hours before he got a response. Dean put his head in his hands. Crowley just kept glaring.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting like that, alternating between kicking himself and fantasizing about writing his own vows, when he heard the front door open and determined steps heading for the kitchen. Cas hadn’t taken off his shoes. He _always_ took off his shoes and left them in the damn doorway. Unless he was planning to leave again. Dean stood up and tried to keep breathing.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice was loud and demanding, and Dean suppressed an urge to run and hide.

“In here,” he answered instead, voice a little shaky. Just a little. Cas came around the corner in a hurry, tie askew and hair a mess from being under his bike helmet.

“Did you just _propose_ to me with a text message?” His face was incredulous and a bit angry, and Dean swallowed hard.

"Your meeting..."

"Meg is covering it. Answer the question."

“Cas, I’m sorry, it was stupid, I shouldn’t have--”

“Did you mean it, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas, I did. I meant it.”  _I meant it. I mean it. I’ve never meant anything like I mean this._

And then he couldn’t talk anymore, because Cas’s mouth was on his, firm and hard, and Cas’s hands were on his waist, steadying him like they had the first time they’d kissed. Helping him breathe even as the kiss took his breath away. After a moment Cas pulled away and just looked at him. He looked calmer but no less serious.

“Ask me again.”

“What?”

“You can’t propose to a person via text message, for fuck’s sake,” Cas said with an exasperated sigh, but he looked like he was trying not to smile. “I want to _see_ you when you ask me to marry you.” He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Dean’s. “I want you to see me when I say yes,” he added quietly.

Dean thought about getting down on one knee, but that would mean letting go of Cas, and he didn’t want to do that. He never wanted to do that again, not as long as they lived. So instead he cupped Cas’s face gently and looked into his eyes. He remembered when they’d first met, and how surprising and demanding and _impossible_ Castiel had been. He remembered how fast and hard he’d fallen and how afraid he’d been. He remembered when they’d broken up and how he’d fallen in love with Cas for the way he hadn’t let them be selfish. He was so fucking _good_. He made Dean better without even trying.

Most of all, Dean remembered how it felt to walk out of Singer’s office _together_ a year ago, how he’d pulled Cas down the hallway and outside, out of sight of the lingering students, not even saying a word until he could kiss him. He remembered saying _I love you_ for the first time and not being afraid anymore.

“Marry me,” he said, voice a little unsteady. He saw Cas’s lips tremble a little before breaking into a wide, sunny smile.

“Yes,” Cas answered. It sounded so good, Dean had to hear it again.

“Marry me, Cas.”

“Yes,” Cas laughed. Dean laughed, too, leaning forward to kiss his smile.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered.

“Yes, Dean.” Cas’s voice shook. “Yes, I will marry you.”

“Good,” Dean said, pulling Cas close and wrapping him in his arms. They were both shaking, both holding each other steady, both whispering _I love you_ against each other’s skin.

Crowley flicked his tail in annoyance and went to hunt mice in the basement.

 


End file.
